Eyes are the Window to the Soul
by ereseth
Summary: A passionate, eye-wetting and swoon inducing tale of a red headed boy and his fluttering feelings for those he can never hope to be with, or can he? With the raven-black, forest-green eyed Harry, the strutting beast to tame, Draco, and mysterious others.
1. The Meeting of Many

This is for you my girl Jade! I originally put 'gurl' but that spelling annoys me, woo Jade!

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Chapter One – The Many Meetings of Two

I tightly hold my mummy's hand as I walk to Platform 9 ¾. Fred and George laugh at me but I know I'm cool really, my mum says I am. I roar quietly and wish one of those blasted siblings of mine would die an untimely death half way through his stupid jokes with an ironic smile across his ironic face.

"Your mum!" I shout at them as they vanish into a crowd of friends, I'm so much cooler than them.

Who am I kidding, I know I'm just a freckled, tall, stupid and ginger FREAK! I cry inside and whimper as I watch the large red spot of mummy vanish into the distance, her lonely hand waving lonesomely from the platform with Ginny by her side. I don't know why, but I'm suspicious my sister is out to steal my true love.

I sigh with the angst of a thousand fanfics as I stare at my reflection in a mirror, which stares back at me in return. I perfect the look of confusion that usually sports my freckled mug and rub a spot of dirt onto my nose. This makes me look rugged.

I look up and my heart skips a beat and jigs past another as I see a tall, blonde boy strut towards me, his expensive robes flap like a lovesick blackbird at his handsome ankles. His face is as handsome as sculpted marble, gently caressed by hundreds of romantic sculptors, with a permanent sneer carved into his perfect, thin lips. This sneer, I imagine, could break a thousand hearts, launch a thousand ships and weaken a thousand knees.

He scowls at me and knocks my shoulder as he storms past me.

I stare at the doorway for some time as my heaving breast calms.

"Why is he so angry?" I think loudly, "surely he is not angry at me? I hope my spot of dirt and unkempt red appearance did not offend him. I wish he would tell me what's wrong so I could be there for him!"

I begin to swoon but the rattling of the trains disturbs me so I instead move onto the next carriage and sit down. I am so alone. Alone in this carriage and alone in my heart. I cannot forget that mysterious blond boy and am racked with bubbling, emotional emotions as I imagine him slowly jogging towards me and goosebump as I think of his ice cold skin.

I love to embrace ice sculptures.

A sharp slide of the door as it is opened draws my attention and in walks the most attractive boy I have seen in the last ten minutes. His raven hair is the blackest black and super shiny. His skin is pale, almost transparent, and I imagine seeing his throbbing veins and arteries beneath the stretched organ. His lips are bitten and I chew mine as I see them, looking up into his emerald, no forest-green eyes. I nervously part my hair with my dirty stumps of fingers when I notice how uncontrollable his is.

I would love to tame that hair.

"Might if I sit here?" he purrs in a voice so silky I wish to wrap myself in it. The notes of the sound bounce up and down with the strings of my heart, as if he were elegantly playing a harp with his slender fingers. The sound is as beautiful as a thousand goddesses singing one of my favourite songs about death and it is then I know I would rather die than be without this average height, pale and dark, messy haired boy.

"You can sit here," I finally stutter, lifting my chin to bring my rebellion dirt smudge into the light. Though this boy is all I could ever hope for in life and more, I cannot forget the intimate connection I felt with the blonde one. I feel I am almost cheating as I eagerly and closely watch the dark one sit opposite me.

"I'm Harry Potter," he introduces him.

It is only now I notice his lightning scar, blood red to accentuate the colour of his passionate lips.


	2. The Gentle Flutter of Two Teenage Hearts

Chapter two since Jade laughed out loud which is truly more than I could have ever hoped for in this life or the next!

***

Chapter Two – The Gentle Flutter of Two Teenage Hearts

"Harry P-p-p-potter?" My words won't seem to come out, like a gobstopper stuck in someone's throat, and I stutter in happy surprise.

He rolls his eyes dramatically, an action framed by his thick, black and mysterious glasses frames, and he holds up the fringe of that sweet smelling hair so I can see his scar more clearly. He thinks I care that he killed a great wizard that he is a murderer, but (while that is cool) it is his name that caught my madly thumping heart. His name, Harry Potter, is the more beautiful than I could have hoped for and I secretly imagine myself holding his slender fingers as we walk down the aisle with one hand, holding up the frills of white lace in my skirt with the other.

I make some sort of exclamation as the passion of this image overwhelms me but he mistakes this as a reaction to the ruby scar carved into his flawless, perfect forehead. A forehead I could stare at for hours, marvelling at the shades of peaches and pales, at the subtle dots of pink that add to the unending glory of the sight.

He talks about something but I am distracted watching his lips, occasionally gasping as he licks his lips with a wet and sensual tongue. My heart skips a beat as I spot something pink without his mouth, gum!

He must have anticipated our meeting if he bothered with fresh breath, Harry anticipated our love. Harry Potter. His name is the more beautiful than I could have hoped for and I again imagine myself holding his slender fingers as we walk down the aisle, my other hand clasping the white fills of my long skirt as the first mentioned hand is occupied touching the talented fingers of Harry Potter.

But I know it can never be, and supress a loud, pitiful, whimpering sob! I am so poor, too poor to measure, too poor and unworthy for the love of the great Harry. Though, as I watch him talk, and see the animated glimmer of his grass green eyes as they flicker towards me with what I can only perceive as a deep and longing love, I dare to hope as I had never dared to hope before.

Unfortunately, our bonding is interrupted by a rude arrival. A girl with bushy, uncontrollable and downright ugly hair bursts in holds herself up in the doorframe.

"A boy has lost a toad," she says rudely in an impolite voice, or something similar.

"More like you're a toad," I think to myself with a naughty giggle. I can be so naughty sometimes, and I remind myself I must behave around my true love.

She finally looks like she will leave and I exchange the first of what I hope will be many deep and piercing looks. He pulls a face at her which I understand; I understand him and he not only understands me, but he truly understands my every waking thought and movement.

I can tell all this from his face, so deep is our connection.

To my dismay she comes back. This saddens me greatly, especially when she points out my artfully placed smudge of dirt, which I am forced to remove. I truly hope Harry, oh Harry, does not think I am not as a dangerous as I first presented myself due to this deception.

She also says we should change as we will be arriving soon. Harry pulls off his jacket when she goes and I grudgingly accept something good came from her interference.

"Let me help you with that," I say softly to him as he exposes his polished chest.

"Truly he is a God amongst wizards!" I breathe to myself as I feel my temperature rising, fanning myself with my hand. I force myself to sit down should I stumble, accidentally or otherwise, and he would need to assist me in his partially dressed state.

I wonder how my blonde love would react if he saw me now.

The train of my emotions pulls up to the building and grinds to a stop. I hope my heart will not stop at Hogwarts as the train has.

Gathering my courage and resisting the urge to reach for Harry's hand, I step off the train and onto a boat.


	3. The Choosing

To Jade, who thinks this will end with Draco's pet or Hedwig being boiled. I don't think they will, or do I?

***

The boat ride is finally over and it was awful.

I held tightly to the edge of the boat as Harry rowed with his strong arms. Two students eaten, one drowned and three wet.

Looking back I can't help but wonder if the boat trip is really worth it, I sure didn't want to sit down more after a long train journey. And, had the exercise not given Harry a sheen like a new polished table, I would also point out that surely magic could power then. But, as I watch Harry recover his breath, I am happy to leave it.

I suck a large amount of oxygen into my lungs as I sharply intake my breath.

My love approaches me and my other love. His scowl remains, surely I did not unintentionally insult him so badly? Unfortunately, the look on his face intensifies so I assume I must have done, and sadly mope in silence, glad to be near him.

I know he wouldn't pay me such attention if he didn't love me. I know his excuse, to talk to Harry, must be an excuse to be near me too.

His long hair, gelled back behind his ears makes me think of a mouse. I feel like Lenny and have the irresistible urge to shrink him down, put him in my pocket, and stroke him forever. Luckily, I resist the urge and am content to watch him talk to Harry, savouring how his figure looks in the mucus green of Slytherin. That colour really suits him.

I catch his name, "Draco Malfoy" and my heart feels like butterflies I must follow to wherever they lead me. But life is never "follow the butterflies" for someone as hideously freakish and not-quite-right-looking as me. I can't help but feel I must follow the path of the spiders until it leads me to my death. I imagine my funeral, with Draco and Harry sobbing at my corpse. They will bury me in the white dress I so adored while I lived, with Scabbers clutched in my arms. He is basically dead anyway, it would be euthanasia. That's how they will justify my last wish.

Draco reaches his hand for Harry's, probably to shake it. He wants to touch, to caress, to hold and shake the hand of my true love.

My fantasy dissolves like salt in tea (rather than sugar). Harry and Draco console each other in their grief and my cold, hard and partially chewed corpse is soon forgotten.

When Harry withdraws his hand it takes all my restraint not to kiss him with my bare lips or strangle him with my bare hands. I adore him for choosing me but he is responsible for that look of hurt crossing Draco's sweet, angelic face, and what I suspect to be a tear hiding in the corner of his eye, for that he should pay.

Luckily, the scene is interrupted by a thin and scraggly looking woman wearing a green hat. I like hats, they make me happy. I follow the crowd where Draco is sorted Slytherin, of course he is, an evil that attractive only belongs surrounded in a field of green. I can imagine the gentle purr he is making as I walk him strut towards his table, to join the others. I notice none of them are ginger.

I know I will be sorted into Gryffindor, I am not smart or rebellious enough to pick a different house from my brothers. Everyone claps when it calls what I know but I know the sound of sympathy clapping when I hear it. It hurts that everyone, even one of my soul mates, hates me but I take comfort that my disgusting red locks touched where his head was only moments ago.

I run my fingers through my hair and smell them, disappointed they do not smell of daisies as I hoped, rather of sweat and grease with a sprinkle of white dust. I taste it with my tongue – I don't think it is sugar. I taste it again to be sure, and am excited to know I was right.

I lean to tell my brothers of my discovery, but my voice is drowned in a wave of applause. Harry has again chosen me and he sits triumphant by my side, as I dream of us doing at the wedding reception. I sadly remind myself that my clothes are black, not white, and reach for the rice to make up for this fact.

My fingers touch Harry by accident and we both withdraw them quickly towards us.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't worry," I roar shyly, and slowly shiver all over like an alarm clock.

I am terrified. Terrified I will hurt Draco, terrified I could hurt Harry, terrified I might get hurt but, most of all, terrified at the truth – that I am falling madly, undying and irrefutable in love with both of them.

I am terrified to love.


	4. Through the Patches

To Jade, who went to put the kettle on because she forgot to put it on earlier and doesn't like tea with cold water, hope you enjoy (:

Chapter 4 – Through the Patches

The table before me is stretched out with more food than I had ever seen before (because I'm poor). I ravenously eat as much dead animal as I can spread my fingers upon; phoenix is particularly good as it cooks as you eat it. I sadly note that my fingers aren't as slender or elegant as Harry's, but I can fix that with nightly finger stretches.

"Ugh!" Harry moans as he makes a sound that isn't quite a word, more like an exclamation of discontent as he looks at the teachers.

"What's wrong honey?" I shout catching his limp head in my ready, meat covered hands.

"What?"

"What's wrong Harry?"

"Nothing," he says as he shakes himself free from my loving grasp. My fingers linger where his soft head lay once caressing my digits with his soft hair and smell them as he looks away. I want to lick them, but I suspect he will notice and put off the treat until later.

I am next shown to the Gryffindor common room. They take us left, right, left, five steps past the knight in armour, right, forward and left again; directions I know I have no hope of remembering. The woman in the portrait is fat and I try to recall her name as she slides back into position, but know I have as little hope of knowing her name than finding her.

I quickly warm myself by the roaring fire and roar to Harry to join me. I am not cold, in fact I am rather flushed from being near my true love and having tasted his hair, but fire is a novelty for a family as poor as mine. We can only afford to burn a dried house-elf once a month on the coldest nights, anything else is just not worth burning.

I pick up my luggage, trying to hide the patches in the suitcase from Harry, though I know he would choose me even if he was blindfolded with a thousand patches. He stretches and yawns, opening his mouth wide so I can see the stretching tongue inside, caged in a ring of pearly white teeth.

"Let's go to bed?" I suggest, "I'd like to see what it's like to sleep in a double bed. Would you?" I ask attentively, kindness for my wearied love radiating from my every pore.

"Sounds good to me, let's go," he agrees, following me the way up the curved staircase. Fortunately, he trips at the last step and falls onto me, pinning my to the floor.

"Sorry," he says as a deep blush colours his cheeks, two rosy red, biteable apples under that perfect forehead. I can smell his delicious breath from under him, a mixture of cinnamon and ginger from the desserts.

"Don't be," I reply, gripping his hand tightly as he offers to pull me up.

The beds are a richest red, draped in luxurious tapestry my family could not dream of affording. I consider stealing one and sending it back for them to sell, but remember a fresh house elf would be better appreciated.

I eagerly jump onto my soft mattress and it ripples out from my body, shaking the curtains as a pesky breeze would the material framing a window. I hug the disturbed pillows to my long and scrawny body, and try to recall a charm that makes them hug back. I remember that I have forgotten it and bury my face into the bedding, so my tears will be absorbed rather than show Harry my weakness.

I finally sit up and notice Harry looking wistfully out the window. I remember his parents have died and he has now been sent away to a school he's never heard of, with only a freak and a freakish giant for a friend.

I admit I would probably go crazy in his situation, with the expectations of being a boy and living, and then take it out on those closest to me. That's why I love Harry, he is so much stronger than I am, both physically, mentally and everything else.

"Harry," I finally say trying not to be distracted by the immense beauty of his face. He looks like a god, an Adonis, made of the purest white marble, cut from the finest white pearls and polished with the most vanilla ice cream and his face glows at me across the gap, "do you ever feel lonely?"

He smiles sadly at me and I am lost for a moment in his dazzling mint green eyes before he admits, "I guess sometimes, why?"

"Well," I say this shyly, often biting my lip nervously as I look for the right words, "if you have a bad dream or something you can always come in here with me. This bed is so big and so lonely…like us."

He heart-breakingly laughs at this, "thanks Ron, I needed that," he yawns and his figure is buried under the expensive sheets, "good night."

I lay awake in devastation looking wide eyed at the ceiling. Knowing Harry laughed at me makes me feel like a snail surrounded in salt, feeling my body and emotions dry up, unlike my eyes that are leaking onto my pillow. I wonder if Draco would have reacted in the same way, or would have offered the same to me in reply.

I remind myself that I will never know for sure; he denies his feelings and hates me in front of his friends, though his friends can't make me forget our first star-struck meeting.

I hear Harry's slow, deep breathing as he sleeps and this makes my emotional turmoil bearable. I lie wedged between my two pillows, the soft objects with hard, pointy corners and decide which to cuddle as I sleep.

Tonight I have neither and instead wrap my arms around myself as I fall asleep.


	5. Jealousy Burns

To Jade, all I say is this, "your ass is on fire and so are your tears"

***

Chapter 5 – Jealousy Burns Like A Thousand Burning Daggers of Fire

Charms class hadn't been surprisingly disappointing. I was forced next to that wild, uncontrollable Hermione (who I despise with the passion of a thousand suns) and my love with a bucktoothed idiot (who I have no strong or passionate feelings about). My Draco had been sat in the back, out of my sight, leaving me with a gentle yet painful burning at the back of my neck as I felt his eyes upon me, like a hawk watches an innocent mouse unseen.

So now we go to potions, Harry strides alongside me with the strength of a God. His strong ankles are even muscular, they do not even hint of clicking as they support his handsome bulk. I lose my thoughts as I study his superbly, thin wrists. They hold his books close to him, as I hope he will one day hold me close, unwilling to let go despite what the world might say.

And when that day comes, I shall hold him against me too, like the most valuable collector's edition.

It is strange to think that Harry only recently discovered his wand. I cannot count the times when I have argued whose wands was bigger with my brothers, always ending with one wand sparkling and erect as the other lies on his front, outstretched on the floor.

Friendly duels are fun. Or at least when you're not me, always losing, always crying tears that feel like tears burning your face as they flee your shameful eyes.

We're here, in the darkest, dampest and dankest dungeon facing Snape the Potion master. He is truly the dragon if there is a dragon to be found in this dungeon of dragons.

He is perhaps the ugliest person I have had the displeasure of seeing, and yet my heart patters like tiny feet on a dancefloor as he studies us. His raven hair is the blackest black and super shiny. His skin is pale, almost transparent, and I imagine seeing his throbbing veins and arteries beneath the stretched organ. He bites his lip in displeasure and I chew mine as I see them, looking up into his black, beetle-like eyes. I wish I could nervously part my hair with my fingers, but they are occupied holding my books.

I bet Harry could support his load with one hand and fiddle his hair with the other; his wrists are that strong and succulent.

"Harry P-p-potter," Snape says throatily, but for once the mention of his name does not send me to my fantasies.

I have been seated next to Draco. I can see his perfect profile from my position: his smoothed back hair the yellow of the palest buttercup, his raven cloak blacker than black, his pronounced and gentle slope of a nose ending furthest from his face as any other facial feature.

I dare myself to glance below the desk, at his feet and ankles. I supress a gasp, a secret fire burning my throat, as I imagine his toes flexing within their leather cage, just begging to be loved.

A movement at my other sides reminds me of Harry. His feminine beauty is so masculine as he stares ahead at the board. He is closer than Draco, I can even see his bitten nail cuticles, the most lovely shade of pink. I attentively reach my fingers for his, longing to stroke the second finger from the left, but he looks at me with confusion.

I made an excuse and retreat with a booby prize, his spare quill. The feather is the fluffiest white, the shade of his endless eyes, and I tickle myself with the object.

"Weasley!"

Snape's low and barely audible purr fills the room as he commands me to look at him. I feel tingly all over, like being crawled over by a thousand tiny black bugs. He is a dragon to be tamed, and I am a dragon tamer.

I am unable to answer his question and look sadly to the desk, my suppressed tears burning my eyes as I suppress them to prevent myself from crying. I have shamed myself before my loves and know I will have to work hard as a hailing snowman to regain their affections.

Someone passes me a note. It's from a girl named Pansy, and reads, "Want to meet up later? ;) Xxxx."

Obviously a sick joke, something that's been happening since I arrived. Why would Pansy, Angela, Neville and Hannah be interested in someone as dull and ugly and freakish and stupid as me?

I screw up the note and burn it, watching the flames lick away as it burns the note, and symbolically my heart with it.

Harry laughs at my pain and I whimper an answer he would expect, forcing a painful smile that stretches my mouth to mask my deep and indescribable despair. Only now I notice Snape is staring both at Harry and Draco in intervals, but particularly at the former.

I stifle my rage and wish I had the courage to roar at him, with the strength of a lion about to defend him pride of lionesses.

"They're mine!" I wish I could say, and throw a hex his way. But then I realise, a hex could hurt him, something I would never want to do.

I'm just not jealous Snape is staring at Harry and Draco, I'm jealous he's not staring at me too.


	6. Thoughts of a Puppy

To Jade, who rudely went to bed so she couldn't remind me what happens next in HP, this is for you.

***

To you naughty people that have been looking and not reviewing, REVIEW, SAY HI, ASK ME ABOUT MY IMAGINARY PET RAT, DO SOMETHING! (I wrote that in capitals because I understand that this conveys that I am angry and this gets my point across more effectively and more intelligently than typing normally would do otherwise).

***

Chapter Six – The Innermost Thoughts and Cries of a Beaten, Lovesick Puppy

I cannot sleep and so lie awake most of that night, my body coated in a damp, wet, sticky, and slightly smelly sweat that had perspired from my lovesick pores throughout most of the evening and night.

I hold my favourite toy cuddled into my bountiful bosom, a cuddly rat toy I had once rescued from a rabid and powerful dog. The tug of war had been a courageous battle, a battle of wits, resourcefulness and strength. When all had seemed lost I had won, and hold the prize in my hand now, albeit with part of a tail missing.

The Yorkshire Terrier had fled.

I sometimes like to pretend that Scabers, as I named him, was living, animated and otherwise alive. I make up silly stories for him: he could be a mysteriously growing, shrinking and talking rat some days, my fairy godmother come to take me to the ball on the others or even a secret wizard on the run from the law, (but that is only when I felt particularly adventurous on a Tuesday).

Scabbars is the only being I dare to tell about my dad. Only he has seen me crying after those long, cold and yet hot evenings, as I brushed each individual tear from my long, dark and fluttering lashes. Only Skabbers was there for me, no matter what was the weather, the day, the temperature, even at the utmost humidity.

As I lay under the red canopy, a crimson sky, like a pool of blood floating above me due to some spell gone awry (or perfectly right if that is what the spell is intended to do) I whimper. I whimper for my sad, miserable and character developing past, I howl knowing I will never find happiness and I roar with the fury and volume of a thousand thunderstorms for my unrequited loves.

Luckily I have not woken Harry, who sleeps only inches from me.

I think of my first love, of Draco. The thought of his blonde hair sends a shiver up my spine, like the icy serpent of his house wriggling over my back. He is in the most evil house (that they surprisingly still have at Hogwarts), has a deliciously evil family and probably unthinkably evil intentions.

I love him as a dangerous animal to chase and tame, until I can hold him as a docile and loving puppy, and soothe him at the call of my average, short, un-hyphened and so unattractive name.

I move onto my second love, as I have always been a fan of telling events as they happen as it makes it much easier to follow, Harry. I feel warm as a freshly toasted marshmallow as I think of the look of deep, unending shades of love his light-bulb sight organs emit as he glances at me. I remember when I caught a whiff of his breath, a moisturbing mixture of pumpkin and pigs liver. Even the thought of his whifftastic sends my heart pulsating somewhere around my ankle.

Harry would hold me like a sad puppy after a bad day or just after an argument with that no good, normal complexioned, average weight, freckled, teethy, and proportionally faced witch.

Hermione annoys me but at least she is unbearably ugly. I hate her as much as two magnets with different poles facing towards each other repel. I chortled with such glee when Snape at looked at her disapprovingly.

Snape! Such a man of experience! I love his rough looks; he could be a sheriff from the era of Robin Hood from his unkempt and wild yet perfectly immaculate appearance. I imagine such naughty and impossible things in the privacy of my mind from time to time, like washing his broom in a black bikini. I imagine black is his favourite colour, all the attractive people like black. I place my hand to my forehead and swoon as I think of him walking towards me, the cloak at his back flapping like an old bin bag that's past its prime but still has a lot of use in it. A man of experience…he could teach me a thing or two I bet.

And that would be useful as I'm probably failing potions.

But how could any of them ever even think about loving me? I am so abysmally average looking. I have two ears, two eyes, two arms and legs, two of everything that would be expected, but of nothing that would be interesting. My hair is not even long and the darkest raven black, which would make me far more attractive, especially if I charmed purple and red streaks into it (depending on my mood). People only tend to use one word when describing the colour of my eyes also, 'brown' not chocolate, not pine, not even stick brown.

I haven't even moved here in the middle of the school year when everyone has established relationships and friend groups…that always makes someone overwhelmingly popular.

I sigh and feel my heart will break, though soon cheer up as I mentally plan out what to wear the next day. Probably my raven black Hogwarts robe with a ruby red tie with canary gold strikes, an assigned shirt and trousers. Socks too if I have any without holes. Yes, that outfit will surely catch the attention of my loves.

I sing myself my favourite lullaby to sleep, one composed by Merlzart the great composer of children's songs. I luckily reach the end before I fall into a deep and soothing unconsciousness.

The naughty little Beasties that Wouldn't do As they were Told,

You naughty rat,

Now don't touch that,

On the baseball bat,

That's baby's hat.

You naughty cat,

You ate the rat,

And made it splat,

Now you'll get fat.

You naughty phlat,

You ate the cat,

On the bathroom mat,

Where the cat once sat.

I am now asleep and I wonder what tomorrow will bring.


	7. The Plots of A Thousand Broomsticks

To Jade, hello!

***

Chapter 7 - The Broomstick of a Thousand Plots

I sluggishly wake myself from my sleep and tumble from my bed and pull on my raven black robe and equally colourless trousers and a striped tie and a spotlessly white shirt and it note it is so clean it almost glows with all the colours of the rainbow.

I am tempted to watch Harry dressing but remind myself to be strong, as strong as his muscular, pale, God like arms that look like they have been carved from some magnificent rock from heaven itself. By the time I have finished contemplating this elegant and creative thought he is unfortunately fully clothed so I follow him to Quoddotch practise.

Harry is naturally smarter than me, even though I'm from a wizarding family, and so I admit I'm glad that there is finally a class I can better than him at. I'm not the jealous type, but then I would love to see him looking at me with awe for once…

That's when I see Draco…

…and then I remember to breath.

As I inhale deeply I gaze longingly at him as he strides in long steps across the swaying green grass. What I wouldn't give to be that green plant, touching his boot for a second before I am crushed out of life.

But I would die happy.

I look with detest at his two big, big-boned bodyguards. They look stupid, I bet they are the type to fall in love with everything they see.

I snort as I imagine them swooning over Hermione, that annoying little puff-headed mouthtalker but have to look away when they stare at me. I feel sorry for whoever ends up with her; they will probably name their children something hideous too, assuming she forgets to drink her contraceptive potion.

That's when I see her.

A woman strides towards me with bright, piercing yellow sight organs, like headlamps on the highest brightness stunning a poor lost deer in the middle of a busy motorway. My knees shake like jelly on a roundabout as she walks past us, clutching her long and smooth broom with an experienced hand. As she moves the same hand to grip it tighter I gulp and fidget nervously on the spot.

"Grasp your brooms," she states fiercely, and I gasp as I do so. This one is so much smoother than the ones we use at home and I again am reminded of my family's crippling and unloveable poverty.

I grip the broom between my knees, but realise this is impractical and make do with using my thighs. Harry and Draco have taken their beasts with pride and look lionly towards each other, a howlish snarl emerging from their thin lips as they remember that they are not too keen on each other.

I hope our mutual love can mend this rift!

Another less manly howl takes our attention as Neville stupidly falls off the broom and dislocates something important. I could think less of my hoochy love for just watching him take off and lose control without so much as jumping to get him down. I could tut disapprovingly at her for not casting some sort of spell to soften the blow, something she would surely have learnt as a frequent flyer, but I don't.

I love her as much as ever as I watch her walk away with Neville, and my heart sinks as quickly as Neville's pudgy body as I have the feeling this will be the last major role she plays in my time at Hogwarts.

My ears prick up like a new born puppy as I hear a silky purr of a voice.

"Come and get me Potty!" Draco roars softy and I marvel at his sloped, javelin like figure as he zooms into the sky like a javelin.

Harry then does the most craziest and romanticist thing I have ever seen. Despite never have been on a broomstick before, and knowing full well that he can be sent back to his unhappy Muggle life for it, he zooms after my black blur, making his own raven one, like a black brush stroke in a perfectly sunny and pearl blue sky.

I know then that this will be his death.

I 'ooh' and 'ahh' with the crowd, clutching my handkerchief to my breast as I pray both my brave soldiers return safely.

Draco throws the object with a manly twirl of his hand, and soon lands with a perfect, hard thump. I resist the urge to throw my hands around him, and hug him with the joined arms, as I watch Hunky Harry in wonder as he not only catches the object, but lands whilst running towards us.

I roar with the crowd as I hoof over to him, making my voice horse in my bid to congratulate him on his stable return.

"Hay," I say, "I knew you could do it."

"HARRY POTTER!" a woman yells loudly. I suspect it is the teacher that often wears green, despite being Gryffindor, who has a difficult to spell and slightly Scottish sounding name.

"Follow me," she says and I watch Harry slink after her as he patters down the stairs.

Draco smiles at me as he sees the result of his handiwork and purposely knocks my shoulder as he passes me.

I secretly smell his hair as he goes buy me. It smells like lavenders and camomile, the shampoo you can buy for babies with diaper rash.

I then realise class is over.

I am alone.

I sadly walk to the dining hall as I wrap my arms around myself, pretending it is the cold of the wind I am protecting my vulnerable body from, and not the cold bite of rejection.

"Yes!" I exclaim, "Dinosaur drumsticks for tea!"


End file.
